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SONGS OF A HOME 



3$ £ 



By 
Ida Carroll Long 



THIRD EDITION 



Published by 

Helen A. Casterline 

Dansvoxle, N.' X- 

L \°i 



F5 35Z3 

iQOC 






SONGS OF A HOME 



I 



I. 

^O YOU remember, oh gray, old door 
That swings in the old homeway — 
Do you remember how I went out 
From you on my marriage day ? 
I heard you creak — I am sure I did — 
As I put on my wedding gown, 
And pinned on the roses, and sweet pale buds, 

That Harry had sent in from town. 
I felt very shy, yet happy I know, 

Because I looked pretty that day; 
And how sorry I was, and yet joyful, too, 

Because I was going away. 
Not happy to leave you, you friendly old door, 
Or the dear ones o'er whom you kept guard ; 
But because I was going with Harry, you know ; 

And yet after all it was hard, 
When dear little mother came into my room 

And whispered to me while she cried, 
That of all her children she loved me the best, 

And that Harry had taken her Pride. 
(It was just like the warmth of her dear mother-hearjt ! 



SONGS OF A HOME 

The fond, foolish language would come, 
But I'm sure, very sure, that she said just the same, 

When Herbert and Susie left home.) 
And how frightened I was when the minister came ! 

How I dreaded to go in, somehow, 
Until Harry came softly and whispered my name 

With a tender kiss on my brow. 
He looked very happy, dear Harry, that day, 

And proud of his poor little bride, 
As he led me into that awful front room 

And stood up so brave by my side. 
And so we were married; and when it was done 

I tried hard to look self-possessed 
(As if nothing had happened), until Herbert cried, 

" Glad to meet you, my dear Mrs. West ! " 
And then, of course, I blushed red as a rose, 

And every one kissed me and smiled, 
Except dear old father whose kind voice shook 

As he said, "God bless you, my child." 
And so we went out from the happy old home 

With a smile that was twin to a sigh, 
And as slowly the garden gate swung back, 

I heard you, old door, creak good-bye. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



II. 

|OSES and roses and roses ! 

And a humming-bird stealing their sweet; 
Roses and roses and roses, 

And green, green sod at their feet; 
For we went to the land of roses — 

We went to the fair Southland, 
And we went in the time of roses, 

When they blossomed on every hand. 
Roses and roses and roses ! 

And a dear, little home hidden there ; 
And Harry and I together, 

And happiness everywhere. 
We sat in the twilight one evening, 

Outdoors where the roses grew ; 
And Harry said to me, "Sweetheart, 

You love me, and you know I love you : 
We love each other so dearly 

That we think we could never speak 
One word that should bring a token 

Of pain to the other's cheek: 
And yet we know (don't we darling ? ) 



SONGS OF A HOME 



We must bear with each other sometimes, 
It we wish no discordant echoes 

To blend with our marriage chimes. 
And so I promise, my Gertrude, 

That if in our life here you should 
Do aught that seems wrong or foolish, 

(Though I know not, dear love, how you could ! ) 
I promise that I will remember 

How much you must bear with in me, 
And if I must speak, do it gently, 

That I jar not love's sweet melody. 
And if you see in me, my darling, 

(As perhaps already you've seen) 
Anything that should trouble or pain you, 

Be sure that I did not mean 
To wound you; and bear with me, sweetheart, 

And show that you still love me well, 
And thus all our life, O my Gertrude, 

Shall be blithe as a marriage bell ! " 
So we plighted new vows there that evening, 

Out there in the roses' breath; 
And our promise had its fair rainbow, 

Which spanned from that moment to death. 



s 



IONGS OF A HOME 



III. 

^H, THAT dear little home 'mid the roses — 

How we loved it, Harry and I ! 
j We were proud of each clapboard and shingle; 
And as for the elm tree close by — 
That gnarly old elm by our window, 

With its fingers tapping the eaves — 
We thought it a triumph of Nature, 

And a poem in branches and leaves. 
Such a home, such a tree, and such roses — 

So Harry and I used to say — 
You could only find once in a lifetime; — 

And then, just over the way, 
Was a meadow that sloped to the river, 

And when Harry came home at four, 
(And I thought he would never come, sometimes,) 

We would sit for an hour or more, 
And watch the silvery water, 

And the trees on its banks here and there, 
While we planned out a wonderful future, 

And built castles high in the air. 
But even in our little Eden 



SONGS OF A HOME 



Things wouldn't always go right; 
There were fires that would be unruly, 

And biscuit that wouldn't be light. 
There were even misunderstandings, 

And sometimes a passion of tears, 
When I fancied that Harry spoke crossly; 

(Though the fault was all in my ears ! ) 
And then I must pout and remonstrate, 

Just because (if Harry but knew) 
I liked to be coaxed and be petted, 

Though 'twas foolish, and wrong, perhaps, too; 
But as for a genuine quarrel, 

We had none, Harry and I, 
For we paused when we thought of that promise. 

Made once 'neath the roses and sky. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



VI. 

mHE elm tree that grew by the window 
Tapped lightly and gaily one day, 
And bade me rejoice in his gladness 
At the thought of the dawning May; 
And out in the yard the roses 

Were already beginning to show 
The promise of just the same beauty 

They lavished a year ago. 
The river rippled in sunlight, 

And whispers soft came thro' the air — 
"Rejoice, and be glad, oh, brown earth, 

There is full new life everywhere ! " 
While near me a sparrow twittered, — 

"I've a secret to tell to you — 
There'll soon be five in the home-nest 

Which now shelters only two. 
And I smiled back in my gladness 

As I whispered: "Oh, little brown bird, 
I, too, have a secret to tell you, 

If you never will utter a word : 
When the roses are blooming their sweetest 



SONGS OF A HOME 

Some wonderful, bright June day 

Another wee home will hold one more 

Than it held in the early May." 



SONGS OF A HOME 



H 



v. 

VH, MY baby ! my own sweet baby ! 
My dear little summer child ! 
God only knows the thoughts in my heart, 
When he first looked up and smiled ! 
God only knows what the clinging touch 

Of his soft hands meant to me; 
Or how the love-fire burned at my heart, 

As I fondled him on my knee. 
My soul was filled with an awe that God 

Had granted to me such dole; 
That for me He had breathed forth the breath of life, 

And created a living soul ! 
And oftentimes at day's closing, 

When the world all around me slept, 
I would muse on the happiness given me 

'Till for very joy I wept. 
And I wondered then, if a woman's life 

Could ever be quite complete, 
Without a husband to sit at her side, 

And children around her feet. 
And the future I planned was starry bright 



SONGS OF A HOME 



With the gladness of childhood's eyes; 
\\ Ith the sound of the little feet of such 

\s people God's Paradise. 
No other lifework seemed half so dear 

\ml DO other gift so good, 
\s the building up of a happy home, 

Viul the blessing of motherhood. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



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VI. 



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12 SONGS OF A HOME 

Their round heads teeming with fun — 
To be checked in the midst of a pillow-fight, 

(With laughter and shouting begun) 
By mother's voice in her warning tones, 

"N : ;o noisy, children. I pray ! 
There's a time for everything, dears, you know. 

And this isn't the time for play ! " 
I fancy now I see Marguerite — 

The first whose mirth was repressed — 
e hurried on her stockings and shoes, 

And t^ied hard to quiet the rest. 
While Willie, noisiest of them all — 

Our mischievous, fun-loving Will — 
Could never refrain from a farewell shout, 

When all the others were still. 
And then when the five were all washed and dressed 

( And no slight undertaking this) 
What a scamper and hurry to get down stairs 

For the coveted morning kiss. 
Then Maggie would lay the table for me, 

And sing a song at her work : 
While Philip was set at more boyish tasks, 

And Willie— the sad little shirk ! 



SONGS OF A HOME 13 

Reluctantly kept the babies at peace 

With pictures, or some quiet play. 
Though he tried very hard to smooth out the frown, 

When mother's eyes wandered that way. 
These were busy days in the little home, 

Even Hallie and baby Belle 
Had simple tasks for their tiny hands 

And were proud when they did them well. 
Brave Maggie and Phil were my "right hand men," 

On whom I could always depend; 
And even Willie, who grumbled so much, 

Did quite his share in the end. 
And then there were hours and hours of play, 

With games delightfully rough; 
Such as "Puss in the Corner" and "Prisoner's Base," 

And "Chasings" and "Blind Man's Buff ; " 
And quieter games for their indoors play, — 

" Making houses," with old shawls and chairs; 
Playing dolls, with the boys as doctors, of course, 

With highly professional airs. 
But ah, time would fail me — these children of ours — 

With their merry, beguiling ways ! — 
How we loved them ! with longing to lead their dear feet 

Safely on to maturer days. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



VII. 

t _ I WOXDER, sometimes, why they pity us 
To whom little children are given, 
I For the motherhood of earth lies next 
V ■ J To the Fatherhood of Heaven. 
Such a wonderful work when we think of it, 

To take body and mind and soul, 
And with the power of a mother's love 

Bring them under a God's control. 
Such a study worthy a Plato's brain — 

How ourselves to act and to be, 
In order to fashion these little hearts 

Into homes for Divinity ! 
And yet it was true that some pitied me, — 

Kind women, with kind hearts, too, 
But they thought that my life must be very hard 

With all that I had to do. 
They did not know that my boys and girls 

Were the lifework I asked of God ; 
That I counted myself thrice blessed of Him, 

And not once under His rod: 
Ah ! my children ! my children ! they did not know 



SONGS OF A HOME 



That God gave me a mother-heart, 
That I felt in the depths of my inmost soul 

I had chosen the better part; 
But oh, we knew it — my soul and I — 

We forgot all toil and tears, 
In the joy that mingled with present care, 

And the hope of the coming years. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



VIII. 

mWOKE up one winter morning 
('Twas a sunshiny, frosty day) 
And found that Harry was fifty years old, 
And that I was growing gray. 
I sat and laughed for a minute— 

I was sure it couldn't be so; 
And yet— yes, we really were married 

Quite twenty-five years ago ! 
I looked at myself in my mirror, 

A matron of forty-five, 
With the pretty bloom of my girlhood gone, 

And only my love alive. 
Had it really, really, come to us then, 

To my lover, Harry, and me ? 
Must we, too, look back with dimming eyes 

On the sweet days that used to be ? 
I buried my face in my hands and cried, 
^ With a word of pain on my tongue; 
For Harry's sake it hurt me to think 

That I could not always be young. 
But ah, ray husband ! he did not care ! 



SONGS OF A HOME 



I knew it, and dried my tears ; 
I knew my face was as fair to him 

As ever in bygone years. 
I thought of the tender, loving words 

Which he spoke to me day by day, 
And my soul thanked God that hearts can love, 

Although heads be old and gray. 
Then I sat and thought for a little while, 

I thought of the dear old home, 
And of how, sometimes, in my girl-days there, 

The beautiful dreams would come. 
A dream of a lover, pure and true — 

A dream of a wee home-nest; 
A dream of children, whose little heads 

Lay warm on their mother's breast. 
I thought of how in my heart of hearts 

I had prayed with a holy shame, 
That I might be worthy through God's dear grace, 

Of these blessings when they came. 
I remembered how, when my heart at last 

Rose up at the voice of love, 
I dared not listen until my soul 

Had the answer it sought above. 



I SONGSOFAHOME 

Dear Herbert had chaffed me, as brothers will; 

"You are cruel, Gertrude, my dear ! 
Will you not give to this pleading swain, 

An answer under a year ? 
If you cannot judge of that heart of yours, 

If it speaks not Yes or No, 
You surely cannot be much in love — 

Shall I tell him that he must go ?" 
But I only smiled when he laughed at me. 

For he could not quite understand 
If I told him I dared not trust my heart, 

Unless led by Another's hand. 
And, oh, my husband, His hand did lead ! 

When we plighted our troth at last 
We knew that no power could break the bands 

Which His loving will had claspt. 



"Why mother ! good-morning, dear mother ! 

Are you here ? I was looking for you. 
Breakfast's ready and hot on the table, 

And it's nearly eight o'clock, too. 
You are not sick, are you, mother ? 



SONGS OF A HOME 

I wish you were (that is, almost), 
For then I could bring you your breakfast — 

An egg, and a crisp slice of toast, 
And a bit of clear apple jelly 

And a cup of tea, smoking hot. 
But there, you are smiling so brightly, 

That you're not sick — I'm sure you are not !" 
Thus burst on my meditation, 

Our "baby Belle," sixteen years old, 
With her cheerful face and her curly head 

Where auburn locks mingled with gold. 
"No, daughter, I am not ill," I said. 

"I am twenty years old, that is all. 
I quite forgot I had children down-stairs, 

Or to watch for the breakfast call ! ' ' 
"Would you rather be twenty than forty-five ?" 

Half timidly Bella said, 
With a questioning look in her big brown eyes, 

And caressing hand on my head. 
"Come, daughter," I said, "let us go down-stairs, 

And I'll answer you as we go; 
Would I rather be twenty than forty-five ? 

My dear little daughter, no. 



) SONGS OF A HOME 

I would not give up my boys and girls 

And the love and the lessons of years, 
For a girlhood even as sweet as your own, 

And as free from all trial, and tears. ' ' 
Aye, I meant it, too ! as we entered the room, 

And the bright "Good-mornings" rang out, 
I was glad of my life and my motherhood, 

As ray fond eyes wandered about. 
There was Philip, as ever our dear, eldest boy, 

Though boasting a well-earned "M. D." 
And there was tall Hallet, a proud sophomore, 

With an eye on a future degree. 
These two were together — the one holding forth 

With the wisdom and fire of eighteen, 
While his grave brother listened, and Harry stood by, 

Half amused and half proud at the scene. 
Willie stood by the window and whistled a tune, 

With an indolent air as of old . 
Dear Willie ! the only one mother's heart feared 

She might not be able to hold ! 
And yet as he called out "Good-morning" and smiled, 

I felt (though I scarcely know why), 
That though tempted he never would fall so low 



SONGS OF A HOME 

That he could not meet mother's eye. 
Sweet Marguerite sat in a corner and sewed, 

With her beautiiul face dreamy grown; 
She was working and planning as mother had done, 

For a glad new home of her own. 
It was hard to bid the dear daughter good-bye, 

"But never mind, mother," Belle said, 
"You won't be so badly off when she is gone ! 

I'll be your 'big daughter,' instead." 
"It is worth long years of real care," I said, 

"To raise up such children as these; 
I would rather be a mother today 

Than a queen with the world on its knees ! ' ' 



SONGS OF A HOME 



ft 



IX. 

DEATH! death! death! you have 

entered our home, 
Which was unbroken before ! 
i. r ou have taken my darling boy from me 
And I cannot smile any more. 
Ah ! better not be a mother tonight 
Than to have my heart wrung so ! 
Better to miss the cup of joy 
Than to drink the dregs of woe ! 

God, why hast Thou forsaken me ? 

I have worshiped Thee all these years; 

1 have worked for the souls Thou hast given me, 
With prayer and longing and tears. 

Ah, Lord ! my children are more to me 

Than to some who are mothers. I went 
To the gates of death with a smile to meet 

The precious life Thou hadst sent. 
I asked my children of Thee, O God; 

I taught them to honor Thee; 
What more could I do that I have not done ? 

O Lord ! have mercy on me ! 



SONGS OF A HOME 



Thus cried I out in my agony, 

When they laid my boy away; 
Thus cried my soul (0 Hallie, my son !) 

For many and many a day. 
My heart rebelled when they said to me : 

"God has him; he is not dead." 
"Words ! words ! can I see his face ?" I cried; 

"Can he speak to his mother ?" I said. 
But there came a time when my soul looked up 

From the grave to the gates of heaven; 
When the Father's house became real to me, 

And my unbelief was forgiven. 
And I learned to look on my boy as one 

Who had parted from me with a smile, 
And journeyed off to a pleasant land, 

To be gone for a little while. 
And when some stranger would question me, 

I could think of my darling and say : 
"I have five children; four here, and one 

For a little while away." 
And I knew that tho' I had talked before 

Of the place where God's mansions be, 
It was only when my boy went home, 

That heaven seemed real to me. 



SONGS OF A HOME 



X. 

a GRAY old farm-house, so weather-worn 
That it blends with the twilight sky; 
A gray old couple before the gate — 
My husband — Harry and I. 
The dear old home where we met and loved, 

Is still and deserted now; 
Time laid his hand on the trysting-place, 

While he whitened the lover's brow 
The walls are fallen in here and there; 

The timbers are turning to mold ; 
The old door creaks on its hinges still, 

But not as it did of old. 
It moves as tho' touched by uncanny hands, 

And groans like a troubled ghost. 
As if it thought upon other days, 

And of faces and forms that are lost. 
The tears come into my eyes as 1 watch, 

And yet with the tears is a calm; 
For we learn — nearing heaven — to blend in our hearts 

The requiem and the psalm; 
And I think as I stand by the mossy gate, 



SONGS OF A HOME 

And muse on the dear old past, 
That in spite of all that is gone from me, 

The best days are these — our last. 
Thrilling it is to spread snowy sails, 

And make for a distant land; 
But good, after days at sea to know 

That the harbor is close at hand. 
Glad are the days of the early Spring, 

With the waiting ground to be tilled ; 
But, better still is the harvest time, 

With the promise of Spring fulfilled. 
And we, who have taken each year of life 

As a boon from a gracious God, 
Would not tread again, even if we might, 

The path which we once have trod : 
For though it has been so bright that we 

Are glad we have passed this way, 
Having tasted its joys and its pleasures once, 

We're content that we cannot stay; 
For there are beautiful things beyond, 

Which our eyes are fain to see; 
And Heaven's joys have no pains like these 

Of our frail mortality. 



6 SONGSOFAHOME 

Dear Harry turns to me as we stand, 

And says with a quiet smile: 
"Ah, sweetheart, truly our life has been 

Both a long and a little while. 
So long since we passed through this rotting gate, 

To a future we did not know; 
And yet so short as my eyes look back, 

That I cannot believe it so ! 
Do you ever think of our rosy dreams 

In the days departed, my wife ? 
I planned such wonderful things for you ! 

But they have not entered your life ! 
Can you forgive him who loves you well, 

That he carries an unknown name ? 
Is your heart content that in all these years 

He has found neither wealth nor fame ?" 

gray old door in the old homestead, 
You are witness to what I say; 

That I have no sigh for laurels or gold 

As I stand here feeble and gray. 
What tho' the world may not know our names ? 

It will not matter in Heaven; 

1 am full content that unto us here 



SONGS OF A HOME 

This sweet life-service is given — 
To honor God in a quiet home 

Where love was a daily guest; 
To reach out a humble hand of help, 

Where it seemed the dear Lord best; 
To bring up our children to love the good, 

And in their own lives, may be, 
To do a larger and fuller work 

Than was given to you and me. 
Such humble work we have had to do 

As the world counts things, dear heart, 
And yet such a blessed, blessed work 

In which to have had a part ! 
As unto Mary of Nazareth. 

Who wrought in her simple home, 
Into our life with its homely tasks 

The dear Christ Presence has come. 
And though we have known what it is to weep 

And cry out with bitterest pain, 
The Lord has been very good to us, 

And given us peace again. 
We have lived to see our children all safe 

In glad, good homes of their own; 



SONGS OF A HOME 



And he who walks not among them here, 

Is yonder beside the Throne. 
Oh, husband, I am content, content, 

That all fear for my darlings is past; 
That even the son whom we trembled for 

Is mother's good boy at last. 
Nay more, I can say as 1 stand tonight 

With my eyes on the other shore, 
"I have had so much from the hand of God, 

That I cannot wish for more. ' ' 
O grey old door, tho' my heart is full 

When I think of the other days, 
Yet the house that seemed to me desolate, 

Is become a house of praise; 
And every creak of thy rusted hinge, 

Tho' it bring the tears to my eyes, 
Calls to mind the things that will still live on 

When thy dust with earth-dust lies. 
And the thought is sweet that altho' earth's homes 

Must vanish, and others come, 
Because the Father is every where, 

Where ever I am is home. 
Thank God for home, and for life, and love ! 



SONGS OF A HOME 

For the thought of the happy days 
Which held no record of great deeds done, 

Yet were lived for the Master's praise. 
We turn away from the dear old home 

As our eyes mark the evening star; 
The calm of twilight is in our hearts, 

And how quiet the meadows are ! 
I lift up my eyes to God's firmament, 

And say "It is well, all well. 
I am ready now for that other home, 

Where the King's beloved dwell." 



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